Chapter 5 Not Fighting Over Trash

Paige fumed as she and Sylvia left the boutique. Once in the car, she asked, "Where to?"

Sylvia thought for a moment. "Your studio."

"Got it!" Paige started the engine and drove away from the bridal shop.

Paige's studio occupied an old villa in the east district. The décor wasn't luxurious, but it was peaceful.

Sylvia set down her luggage and stood by the window, gazing at the sycamore trees outside. She took a deep breath.

The air smelled of paint and fabric, mixed with the old house's distinctive woody scent—strangely comforting.

"I've always kept this room for you." Paige entered with two cups of coffee, handing one over. "You can move in anytime."

Sylvia accepted the cup, her fingertips touching the warm surface. A wave of bitterness washed over her.

"Paige, thank you."

"Thank me for what?" Paige rolled her eyes. "If you hadn't fronted me that startup money back then, I wouldn't even have this studio. Now that you're in trouble, what kind of person would I be if I didn't help?"

Sylvia's lips twitched into a faint smile. She said nothing more.

Seeing her pale face, Paige sighed inwardly but didn't have the heart to mention Nelson again.

"By the way, about Mrs. Smith's gown—what's your design plan?"

Sylvia nodded, about to respond when her phone suddenly rang.

She pulled it out. The name on the screen made her freeze.

Nelson.

Paige caught sight of the name too, her expression darkening instantly. "What does he want now?"

Sylvia took a deep breath and answered.

"Hello."

"Sylvia." Nelson's voice came through, casual and entitled. "Make some barbecue ribs tonight and bring them over. I'm craving them."

Sylvia's grip on the phone tightened slightly. "Do you want them, or does Clara?"

Barbecue ribs.

Her signature dish. Nelson's favorite.

Seven years together—she'd lost count of how many times she'd made this for him in the kitchen.

But where those meals ended up lately, she didn't need to guess.

A moment of silence on the other end, then Nelson's impatient voice. "She can't cook. You know I can't stand anyone else's cooking."

Sylvia nearly laughed out loud.

Can't stand anyone else's cooking, but perfectly fine sleeping with someone else?

"That's your problem, not mine," Sylvia said. "I'm not cooking for you anymore."

"Sylvia, what's that supposed to mean?" Nelson's voice hardened.

Something seemed to occur to him. Irritated, he added, "It's just a wedding gown. Are you really going to make this big a deal out of it?"

Sylvia laughed coldly. "You really think this is just about a gown?"

Momo's death. Her ring. That wedding dress...

But in his eyes, she was upset over a mere gown!

"Sylvia!"

"Nelson." Sylvia's voice turned cold. "I'm not your housekeeper anymore. Don't call me again."

"You think these tactics will get my attention?" Nelson's voice shot up, angry. "Sylvia, let me tell you—it won't work!"

Sylvia found it absurd.

In his mind, her resistance was just a ploy for his attention.

She didn't want to hear more. She hung up.

The phone screen went dark, reflecting her own face.

Pale, haggard, eyes rimmed red—but no tears.

Paige stood nearby, furious. "Is he insane? After humiliating you at the boutique, he still expects you to cook? What does he think you are?"

"What am I?" Sylvia scoffed. "A housekeeper at his beck and call."

Paige looked at her, exasperated. "You..."

Sylvia lowered her eyes, dejected.

Unable to bear seeing her like this, Paige threw an arm around her shoulders. "Men are everywhere!"

She waved her hand dramatically. "Come on! I'm taking you to a bar to find some men!"

Sylvia didn't want to go, but eventually gave in to Paige's enthusiasm.

The bar was tucked in an alley on the west side—hidden away, but spectacular inside.

Dim lighting, lazy music, air thick with mingled scents of alcohol and perfume.

Paige found a booth and ordered a bottle of red wine, pouring Sylvia a glass.

"Cheers! Tonight, we drink till we drop!"

Sylvia took the glass, tilted her head back, and drained it in one gulp.

Paige slapped the table. "That's the spirit! Another!"

She refilled Sylvia's glass, then scanned the men around them.

"Hey, look over there. That guy." Paige whispered in her ear with a low laugh.

Just then, the bar door swung open. A group walked in.

Sylvia paid no attention—until a familiar voice reached her ears.

"Clara, there's a spot here."

Her body went rigid.

Nelson.

She looked up, her gaze cutting through the dim light to the group at the entrance.

Nelson wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, bottle in hand, leaning to speak to someone beside him.

Next to him, Clara in a white dress clung to his arm, her face lit with a sweet smile.

Their intimacy was unmistakable—like lovers deep in romance.

Paige saw them too and cursed under her breath.

"How do we keep running into these two everywhere?"

Sylvia looked away, lifting her glass for another sip. "Ignore them. Let's just drink."

She said that, but her gaze kept drifting back.

Clara held Nelson's arm, standing by the bar, saying something.

Clara looked up at him, eyes full of laughter.

Nelson gazed down at her, their faces drawing closer—almost kissing.

Paige waved a hand in front of Sylvia's face. "Stop watching. It's disgusting."

Sylvia gripped her glass tighter, forcing herself to look away.

"It is disgusting." But her heart truly ached.

Seven years of feelings couldn't be discarded overnight.

But she'd try.

Sylvia downed another glass. When she looked up, someone stood before her.

A woman in a pink minidress looked down at her condescendingly.

"Well, well, if it isn't Sylvia Granger."

Sylvia raised her eyes, recognizing Clara's sidekick—Mandy.

"Did you come here knowing Mr. Fields would be here? Trying to stage a coincidence?" Mandy Foster clicked her tongue mockingly. "Pathetic. So desperate for a man—why not just sell yourself? At least you'd make money."

Paige sneered. "What, speaking from experience? You seem to know the process well."

Mandy's expression shifted. "This is none of your business!"

"Just can't stand dogs barking," Sylvia said. "And you—such a good dog for Clara. Biting everyone you see."

Mandy's face flushed red. "Who are you calling a dog?"

Sylvia shrugged. "Whoever responds, I guess."

Mandy trembled with rage, pointing at Sylvia's nose. "You—"

Sylvia leaned back on the sofa, expression cold. "Go tell Clara I'm not fighting her over trash."

"And tell her to control her dog. All that barking is disturbing everyone's peace."